BIRD IN HAND
Scene:—You are looking into the study of a Scientist—a large room lined with books and specimen cases. At the back are two upright windows, through which one sees a green bowery garden, suggestive of quiet and seclusion. In one window stands a case of stuffed birds, in the other a microscope. Near the center of the room is a ponderous writing-table, above which hangs an adjustable light, presided over by a large green shade. Adjoining the writing-table is a smaller one, on which stands a typewriter. All about the room, on tables and systematically arranged, and suggestive of the strict order imposed by a meticulous mind. There is one door to right, another to left, the latter leading to an inner chamber. On the writing-table lie papers and a portable speaking-tube. A telephone, a waste-paper basket, and a revolving book-stand are within easy reach of the Professor’s chair, while behind it is a screen partly covering the door leading to the inner chamber. On the opposite side, between the other door and the window, stands a large chest. It is morning, and through half-lowered green blinds sunlight streams over the replete and comfortable interior, touching to brightness the polished metal of the microscope, and the plumage of the stuffed birds.
At the small table, on a chair less comfortable than the one at the writing-desk sits an old gentleman in an affluent dressing-gown of deep rich tones, dividing his attention between a bowl of “Benger’s Food” and the typewriter, at which he clicks with portentous gravity and occasional pauses in the fingering. He is evidently inexpert, perhaps through short-sightedness; but the typewriter helps him to feel, even in his study, that his words are destined for print and the laying-down of the scientific law for the generations to come after.
The clock on the chimney-piece, a skeleton of severe design, with the workings of its metal bowels immodestly exposed, strikes eleven. This seems to be a signal to a mind methodically trained. The Professor consults his watch, starts, looks reproachfully at the clock, then quits the typewriter, picks up his bowl of Benger, and spooning from it on the way goes to the speaking-tube, which having unstopped, he breathes into. The exertion sets him coughing; but he does this, like most other things, patiently and methodically. After listening at the tube he speaks down it, and you hear a bisected conversation.
Professor Braintree. Is that you, Miss Tuckey?—Yes, I’m ready for you—I’m ready, I say—if you will, please. Yes. (He starts to put on the stopper again; then, as an after-thought)—Oh! Miss Tuckey—Are you there?—Tut! Tut! Why does the woman hurry so? (He gets up a little testily to remove his Benger bowl to a side-table, and progressing with very short steps places it unsecurely on a projecting book whence it falls and breaks. He accepts the fact philosophically so far as infirmity will allow; but there is a gentle querulousness in his tone as he says—) There, there! Oh dear!—(And leaving the fragments to lie, returns to his place. There he stands for a moment, and looking back reproachfully, removes from his eyes the highly magnifying reading-glasses which were the cause of the mishaps. He replaces them by another pair which permit a wider range of vision. Through these he is able to contemplate the entrance of Miss Tuckey, a subdued machine of a woman who accepts, without kick of any kind, the mould she has been poured into.)
Miss Tuckey. Good-morning, Sir.
(Like a well-fed fish catching at a fly from mere habit, the Professor engulfs and returns the salutation by an inaudible movement of the lips.)
Professor. Miss Tuckey, there is something broken over there, will you please see it removed? And will you kindly make a note to write to Messrs. Spink and Wedge, and say that these new glasses don’t suit me—I find them very trying to the—(About to say “temper,” he substitutes)—to the eyes. And I must ask you to fetch those proofs which came yesterday. I tried to catch you just now, but you had gone.
(In this statement there is a note of rebuke for a too precipitate obedience to summons. But by the foresight of Miss Tuckey, the proofs are there; she deposits them in front of him.)